


As the Snow Falls

by AlwaysKeepAiming



Series: Together We Will Stand [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beginnings of Dark Jon Snow, Creepy Petyr Baelish, Dealing With Trauma, F/M, Jon Snow is King in the North, Post Season 6, Pre Season 7, Pre-Relationship, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:15:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26842726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysKeepAiming/pseuds/AlwaysKeepAiming
Summary: Some men still found her weak and thought to take advantage of her. Soon they would learn she is not fragile like a flower, but fragile like the moment a wolf sees you before it decides if you are friend or prey.Trigger warning: Mentions of past rape, sexual assault, and conversation about those topics.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Together We Will Stand [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943203
Comments: 12
Kudos: 157





	As the Snow Falls

**Author's Note:**

> WOW!  
> I am shocked and thrilled and just so overcome by the support the first work in this series received. I was honestly blown away. I have thought a lot about this series and am very excited to share the works with you. Without further ado- here is the next piece in the series! It is inspired by the TV show Reign which you can find on Netflix. 
> 
> Trigger warning: Mentions of past rape, sexual assault, and conversation about those topics. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The night before her wedding was filled with good cheer and merriment as a feast carried on through the evening. The hunt the day before proved fruitful and they had boar and elk roasted to perfection. Sansa sat at the high table next to her betrothed as her countrymen ate and drank to the good fortune their union would bring. Sansa couldn’t even begin to imagine the festivities that would take place tomorrow evening once their marriage was secured. 

“Drink up pretty boy!” Tormund Giantsbane sat on the other side of Jon, egging him on to finish his goblet of ale. Most of the wildlings had already headed north to Eastwatch by the Sea, but a few stayed to witness the wedding. A couple of Lords lingered close around goblets in hand as well, laughing alongside the wildling, “Is this not a celebration?” 

That much was true. Recently, in the wake of the Battle of the Bastards, there seemed to be very little to celebrate. The reaction to her upcoming wedding proved that the Northerners desperately needed a reprieve and clung to any bit of happiness they could. Normally, a royal wedding would be weeks of events and feasts. They didn’t have that kind of time, but Sansa had no doubt they would take the next few days and enjoy them. 

Lively music filled the hall and a few Lords had taken their Ladies out onto the dance floor. Dresses filled as the ladies twirled around and laughter joined the music. Arya sat at a table with a few younger bannermen, a debate surely in full swing. Even the Lady Brienne had relaxed, drinking with her squire and a few Knights of the Vale. The only person seemingly not enjoying the feast was Lord Baelish who remained ever lurking in the shadows of the hall. 

“Care to trouble this old Knight for a dance Milady?” Ser Davos appeared beside her, slightly bowed and hand extended. “That is of course if my King can spare his bride.” His invitation had gathered Jon’s attention who shifted back in his seat, smiling at his loyal advisor. The smile looked good on him and he seemed a little more relaxed. Of course, that could be due to the fact his goblet never seemed to be empty, especially with the red-headed Wildling close by. 

“I think the Lady Sansa will find you a far better dancer than I.” Jon nodded but Sansa didn’t believe his words for a second. Surely Jon’s swords skills would translate well to the dance floor, though she could not recall a time from their childhoods when he danced during a feast. 

Still, she returned an equally warm smile, “Thank you, my King. Gladly Ser,” Despite the wars coming and Winter’s recent arrival, it felt good to celebrate their good fortune and leave their troubles outside the hall, even if it was only for a night or two. Sansa wanted even just a taste of happiness to saturate her thirst. 

Davos proved to be a great partner, only fumbling over a few steps of the Northern jig the musicians were playing. Not that it mattered much. Sansa had learned during her childhood in Kings Landing that the dancing done at the Southern Court was rigid and refined, while the Northerners took dancing to be a chance to let loose. Sure, there were steps to follow, but they served as more guidelines than anything else.

Once Sansa arrived on the dance floor, she found herself constantly passed from person to person. She loved dancing and welcomed the chance to laugh as she spun hand in hand with whichever lord or lady, she shared the song with. More than a few times she caught Jon watching her, eyes dark, hardly listening to whichever lord or wildling had his ear. 

As the song ended, Sansa turned to look for her next partner but instead found Lord Baelish standing there, two goblets filled near the brim in his hands. “Lady Sansa, your smile lights up the room.” 

A grin crept upon his face as he complimented her, something Sansa struggled to match, “Lord Baelish. Thank you.” Her jovial mood flew away and up into rafters, the second Baelish caught her attention. 

“You must be thirsty, here, wine.” She accepted the goblet but did not drink when she brought it up to her lips. Truth be told, her stomach had been a mess of nerves all week, only increasing as the day of her wedding got closer. Even on the norm, she found it hard to stomach wine, much-preferring ale, or even mead. Still, her late Lady Mother’s etiquette lessons persisted, and Sansa didn’t want to be rude. 

With the next song starting, and Baelish clearly not interested in dancing, she followed him to the side of the room. She intended to return to the high table, but Baelish placed a hand between her shoulders and guided her away. Their destination appeared to be a small nook, away from the tables and dance floor, and arguably one of the quieter spots in the vast hall. 

“I must say, it warms my heart to see you happy in these halls. I find you to be the most beautiful winter rose in all the North. I hope to be a dear friend and ally for many years to come.” His hand dropped as they stopped walking, tracing down her spine. Despite the thick fabric of her dress, a trail of goosebumps followed the path of his hand. 

Taking a step back and therefore forcing space between them, Sansa tightened her jaw and her focus. “Your words flatter Lord Baelish, but please heed your actions, tomorrow I shall be wedded, bedded, and your Queen.” Any conversation with Littlefinger felt as a battle; she needed her wits sharp as Valyrian Steel to parlay with him. 

“An unnecessary move my dear. I always imagined you Queen, but not with a bastard by your side. You should take caution who you let into your bed.” Baelish took another sip of wine, casting his eyes over her full body. She did her best to ignore him.

“That is your Sovereign Lord you speak of.” Sansa reminded him of only a moon prior when he knelt before Jon, swearing his allegiance and by proxy the Vale’s. Of course, this was Baelish and his word meant very little. He’d swear allegiance to whichever house suited him best and switched whenever the waters flowed the other way. 

“I mean no insult, but only speak the truth that many of your countrymen still whisper. Jon Snow does not deserve you and I urge you to lie in wait. Others will rally around you, dethrone the bastard and name you as the true and only ruler the North requires.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Darting her eyes around, Sansa checked to see if anyone heard the vile threat Baelish whispered to her. “And now you speak of treason.” He must have some feeling of confidence if he would speak so boldly and plainly in the hall where Jon’s bannermen ate mere paces away. 

“I wish only to protect you, dear Sansa, as I have for many years.” She hated this. The way he could make her skin crawl and make her feel smaller than ever. She knew Baelish desired her, but that desire was for control and lust. The way he let his eyes linger over her chest made her want to banish him from the North in perpetuity. However, his resources proved fruitful and she couldn’t get rid of the rat yet. 

“I am home, my Lord, and my protection comes from my countrymen, my sworn sword, and my family.” She was a wolf in her den. Yes, many threats still existed against the North and the Starks, but Sansa held a determination to make sure the threats were dealt with in a smarter way than her late family did before her.

He leaned even closer to her ear, Sansa feeling not just his hot breath but also his lips as they ghosted over the words, “Just know, my dear, no matter what has happened, you can always come to me.” 

Leaning away, she was able to create some space between them; enough so he could see the glare on her face. She didn’t want his protection, shrewd comments, or lingering eyes. “You are entirely too close my Lord.” There was a bite in her voice she didn’t try to hide. 

Baelish seemed relatively unbothered by her apparent disgust at his words. He only took another sip from his goblet before bowing his head and finally taking his leave. Anger boiled from the pit of her stomach, not only at Baelish but also at herself for letting him get a reaction from her. 

“Lady Sansa, are you alright?” Lady Brienne and Arya materialized by her side, watching as Baelish walked away, head held high, knowing once more he got under his skin. Sansa set the still full goblet of wine on the closest table quickly pulling her hands together to hide any sign of anxiety that Baelish tried to give her. 

Sansa said nothing, but Arya took note of where her gaze remained on his retreating back. “What did he say to you?” 

“Nothing of value.” But that seemed to do little to appease Arya who almost immediately rolled her eyes. 

Arya turned on her heel, “When has Littlefinger ever had anything of value to say?” With one more look, she headed back to the table where she had dined. The slight pained Sansa, as did the fact Arya had been avoiding both her and Jon since their betrothal. Before, it seemed like the sisters were growing closer, but now they felt farther apart than ever before. 

The fluctuating emotions combined with her growing nerves turned Sansa’s stomach and her heart grew heavy, “Excuse me Brienne, but I think I shall retire for the night.” She forced a smile as Baelish’s words still haunted her mind. 

“Shall I escort you to your chambers, My Lady?” Brienne asked but Sansa waved her off. One of her lady knight’s eyebrows had jumped in concern but she had nothing of it. 

“No, stay. Please. Enjoy the night. It is, after all, a big day tomorrow.” In truth, Sansa desired to be alone. The week had been emotional, leaving her feeling more and more drained every day. While she still had reservations about the impending wedding, she wanted the stress to be over with. At this point, she was ready for the next day’s events to be over. 

Leaving Brienne behind, Sansa glanced over to Jon as she made her way to the exit. If he seemed bothered by her pending exit or Baelish talking to her, he hid it well. Instead, he lifted his goblet up in a silent toast as she curtsied in response and then was quickly pulled back into the conversation happening by him. 

Back in her chambers, Sansa welcomed the help of her handmaid Hanna in preparing for bed. Hanna had been a simple maid under the Bolton’s but had whispered her support of House Stark to Sansa. After seeing what that loyalty had gotten others, Sansa begged her to keep quiet. She liked the young girl, who’s quick wit and dry humor remaindered her of Arya. 

When she and Jon retook Winterfell, Hanna had survived and still worked within the great keep. Sansa wasted no time in adding Hanna to her household, giving her the role of her personal handmaid. She struggled to trust others and so only employed Hanna, who loyally followed and supported her. 

“Are you alright my lady?” Hanna asked, brushing out Sansa’s long red hair. “You seem quiet.” 

“Yes, I suppose I am. It was a long day.” Her eyes focused on a spot on the wall that held no meaning or significance but allowed her to just gaze off. 

“I imagine tomorrow will be longer.” Hanna probably had a point. The wedding was set to take place in the Godswood in the evening, followed by yet another feast and celebration. Plus, there would be much to do the day of. Setting down the brush, Hanna stepped aside to allow Sansa to stand, “Will you stitch for a while, or shall I turn down the room?” 

Sansa made for her bed, “I’m rather tired. Turn down the room.” While Sansa got comfortable, Hanna tended to the fireplace, checked the windows, and put out a fair number of candles. As the room grew darker, the weight of her eyelids increased. Her mind had been running for hours on end, that felt good just to get to sleep earlier. She was asleep by the time Hanna left the room. 

A rush of cold air awoke Sansa and she deeply wished that had been the worst part about being awoken. It was not and by the light of her fireplace and bedside candles she made out a man in her bed. He straddled her, a heavyweight on her legs. 

His eyes immediately went wide in terror as she did the only thing that came to her mind, scream. Quickly he covered her mouth with one hand. Her cry had been cut short; would the guards even hear it? By his undone trousers, and one hand under her nightgown, his intentions were clear. 

A flood of strength came over Sansa as she scrambled backward, away from the man. The second her assailant’s hand loosen around her mouth, she yelled, “Guards! Guards!” 

“No! My lady, I’m sorry!” A guard threw the door open and Sansa doubted she would ever be so happy to see a guard again. He quickly assessed the situation and grabbed the man who had already begun his escape attempt. Another guard quickly joined him, and Sansa leaped off the bed and ran out of the room, desperate to put as much distance between her and that monster as possible. 

She ran into the hallway with her hands covering her mouth, trying to stifle her sobs. She could hardly believe what had happened. It brought her back to a darker time when Ramsay would come and take advantage of her at all hours of the day. Her skin crawled as the thought of him on top of her almost made her empty her stomach right here and now. She thought those days were long behind her. Throwing her back against the wall she prayed that her knees wouldn't give out as she stared in horror back in the room. Trembling she watched as the two guards fought to get the man under control. He fought and struggled, each time be broke a limp free, Sansa's stomach turned and her knees trembled a little harder. 

“Sansa?” Turning quickly, she found Jon standing at the other end hall, seemingly returning to his chambers after the feast. Davos and two guards were with him, all four having concerned looks on their faces. The commotion must have gotten his attention as he already seemed ready to spring into action. 

She must look a fright, disheveled from being awoken, running from her rooms barefoot and wearing nothing but her nightgown. It wasn’t proper for anyone to see her like this, but nothing about the past few minutes had been proper. Still, she felt grateful when Davos and the guards diverted his gaze away from her. 

“Jon!” She ran to him, relief flooding over her. Ever since that fateful day at Castle Black when they reunited, she always felt safest when she was close to him. He provided a sense of security that she craved. 

He met her halfway, “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Just then the two guards exited her chamber, holding the man between them. He still struggled despite a tight grip, crying out for mercy. One guard took notice of them and threw the man to the ground in front of Jon. 

Sansa took a step back as Jon moved in front of her. “We found ‘im in ‘er bed. He tried to take advantage of ‘er,” One guard stated as the other spat on the man. “Rape ‘er, yer Grace.” 

Jon sucked in a deep breath, as Sansa felt complied to declared, “Failed to.” Jon’s eyes snapped back to her as he studied her. They were impossibly dark with anger. She tried to hold his gaze but knew terror remained on her face. There were few things she claimed to fear, but having a man rape her was one. 

In a swift motion, he removed his cloak and draped it her over her shoulders. When she reached for the edges to pull it closer, she noticed that her hands shook. “Throw him in the dungeon. Davos, take Lady Sansa to my solar, wait with her until I return. Someone find the Lady Brienne and get me Wolkan.” Jon ordered, making sure the cloak covered her. “I will join you shortly.” 

“This way my lady.” Davos reached out to touch her but stopped a bit away, letting his hand linger as he directed her down the hall. She did her best to block out the pleas and groans of her assailant as the guards dragged him away. Jon and a third guard followed while the remaining guard took off down the hallway, presumably to get Maester Wolkan. 

She could feel where he laid his hand on her thigh and it burned with every step. It radiated from her thigh up through her entire body. Every shadow on the wall caused her to jump as before her eyes, they morphed into the silhouette of her late husband. Her steps were quiet in comparison to the boots and sword of Davos, but she barely felt the cold stone. 

They passed two guards on patrol duty and Davos ordered them to stay with them as they entered Jon’s chambers. Unable to hold herself up anymore, she collapsed into the closest chair by her. “Can I get you anything, my lady?” 

Even though her throat felt dry, she shook her head no. Thankfully he didn’t push and left her to her thoughts. Nothing made sense. She didn’t recognize the man and couldn’t imagine what moved him to try and take advantage of her. Her mind remained a cloud of confusion as the minutes ticked by. She wanted to think, to determine who and why, but evening thinking too much hurt, causing a dull throb in her head. All she could do was silently repeat _Ramsay is dead._ Over and over again. 

_Ramsay is dead._  
_Ramsay is dead._  
_Ramsay is dead._

Dead and bones into ashes. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. She would keep repeating this until she believed it, until she could no longer feel the shadow of his hands on her body. She’d order a bath in the morning and use her oils to rid any lasting feeling of being touched by another, even if it meant scrubbing her skin raw. 

_Ramsay is dead._

Ser Davos didn’t speak and neither did either of the guards posted by the door. The welcomed silence allowed Sansa the opportunity to slow her breathing and regain control of her emotions. Despite the man’s best attempts, he had failed. She pulled the cloak closer around trying to hide deeper in the furs. The fabric already stretched over her shoulders, but that didn’t stop Sansa from clawing it closer to her. 

A slam from the door caused a flinch to rupture from the pit of her spine through her shoulders. It was simply Jon returning from wherever he attended to after finding her in the halls. A flood of regret filled Jon’s face as he watched her nerves take back over. “Leave us.” He ordered Ser Davos and then turned to the guards, “Stay close, on the doors.” 

Once the room was empty save for Jon and Sansa, he came over with a garment outstretched in his hand. She hadn’t noticed the grey cloth adorn by brown fur which she recognized as her robe. “Here, I had a maid fetch it for you.” 

She didn’t want to remove Jon’s cloak, loving the warmth and protection it gave as she burrowed under the thick cloth and fur. Every moment she wore it, the further Ramsay and the events of the night were pushed from her mind. But she also knew it wasn’t proper and Jon turned his back to allow her to change in relative privacy. She slipped off the cloak as he spoke, facing a window.

Jon kept one hand under his chin but she couldn’t tell if he was scratching his whiskers or using it as a prop as he thought. “The man is under guard in the dungeon. He’s already confessed to being under orders from another but refused to state a name. He said you were supposed to be drugged. I’ve ordered Wolkan to write the arrest order and the confession. We shall have his guilt by dawn and his head by dusk.” 

Sansa listened to his every word as she watching his back. She could practically see the tension he held in his shoulders. She longed to lift some of the burden he carried every day, and it ached to know she contributed to some of it. Any reprieve the night’s celebrations gave was gone. The reality remained that many people wished ill against them, and they needed to prepare. Still, despite the gratefulness she felt for him having dealt with the attack so swiftly, there were things he omitted that had cause for concern. 

“Our wedding?” She asked, tying her robe tightly, wanting to hold in as much warmth as the furs allowed, knowing it paled in comparison to Jon’s cloak. She couldn’t see how they could wed at dusk if they were also executing a man then. 

Jon remained with his back turned to her, “We shall delay it until there are no more threats against your person or your virtue.” 

“No.” Sansa spoke quickly and decisively, knowing full well that she would not let him do this. She sat back down in the chair, tucking her bare feet back under her dress to keep them warm. 

“No?” Jon glanced back over his shoulder; confusion etched on his face. When he saw she was decent once more, he came to join her by the fire, resting a hand on the fireplace mantel. 

“We cannot delay. We must marry tomorrow.” The fire danced around the burning logs, as Sansa let her gaze get lost in the flames. It was easier than looking at Jon, whose confusion would have surely dripped into disappointment. 

He knelt by her chair, but she kept her gaze straight forward, “Sansa, you cannot be serious. Someone just tried to rape you.” The softness of his voice irritated her. She recognized the tone from when he’d speak to his page boy, a young lad of only nine moons. He would be direct, but gentle as if he was afraid his words would hurt. Yes, Sansa was scared, but it was for the fear that they needed to act and act soon.

Standing, Jon’s hand fell off her arm as she walked away, “It is for that reason entirely that I am serious.” With their positions now reversed, Sansa standing by the fire and Jon by the chair, she looked to him. He hadn’t moved from his kneeling position and she doubted his eyes had left her. 

Sansa crossed her arms and fixed him a look, “As long as I am unwedded people will always try to use me. Make no mistake, this was nothing more than our enemy’s ploy to land me in another’s bed instead of yours.” 

At the mention of their shared bed, Jon glanced away. In truth, Sansa had been struggling as well with the idea of another wedding night. She had been so busy processing her own feelings, she’d given no consideration on how if Jon had come to terms with it. Judging by the inability to look at her, she’d figure not well. Brushing that notion away, she waved a hand aimlessly in the air, “In any case, dealing with him is not our current priority.” 

“It’s my priority,” Jon stood a coolness about him in not only his voice but in his stance and the glare on his face, “He’s a rapist. He needs to answer for it.” 

“With his life?” She asked, dropping her head. Never before had she heard of a man losing his life for rape. For one, the crime remained terribly difficult to prove and even if it could be proven, punishment at worst was to take the Black. 

“Aye Sansa, with his life.” The darkness in his eyes and bit in his voice froze her in her spot. She had only rarely seen such fury before in Jon, but each time took her aback. “Any man who reduces himself to that low of a crime is worthy of nothing but a shameless death.” He spoke with anger, drawing the words long as he spat them out. 

While his anger seemed to appear out of nowhere Sansa knew it came from a sound and rooted place. Somewhere in a tower in the South, his mother died giving birth after being raped, and down a floor, two hallways over his future bride had been raped countless times by a man who felt he could do whatever with her body. Two women, separated by years and distance but tied together by the same vicious crime with one man linking them. 

“Jon-.” Sansa reached out for him, but he began pacing the length of the room, arms crossed tightly. 

“No. I will not be swayed on this. Do not ask me too.” She knew Jon to be a man who wanted to fix things. Most men were like that but now there was a problem that he couldn’t fix. He couldn’t change the horrors that had befallen his mother and Sansa. Even kings could not rewrite history. But now there was a man in a cell who represented the will to dominate a woman and Sansa couldn’t blame Jon for wanting him to suffer. 

But she also knew bigger things were at play here, “He is but a pawn. Give him a chance to name the man who put him up to this. Send him to the wall if he does. If not, then take his head.” They needed to react with their heads, not their hearts. Initially, Sansa would not have stopped Jon, but after some time to process, especially knowing that someone else had ordered the man to act, she knew killing him would not solve anything. 

She simply watched Jon pace as he mulled over her words giving him the same chance to see reason that she had. A few times he glanced at her, but he offered little change in emotion away from frustration, so she kept her face as neutral as possible. Yes, the events of the night terrified her, and she doubted she’d sleep another wink, but her years in King’s Landing taught her the importance of masking her emotions. 

Finally, Jon stopped to rest his hands on the back of one of the chairs. He stared into the fire before nodding, “Okay.” 

At least they now had a chance to learn about the true villain behind the crime. Sansa already had a name in mind but kept her thoughts to herself. Jon already had enough to worry about and if she named her concerns, she was certain he would order another arrest tonight. Instead, she walked over to him, laying one of her hands in the crook of his elbow. 

“But not tomorrow. Right now, the best protection you can give me is not as my King but as my Lord Husband.” She curled her fingers around to give his arm a squeeze. He went from studying her face to looking down at her hand, pale against the dark blue of his shirt, and then back up at her face. She hoped he could see the silent plea in her eyes. “Please, Jon. Do not delay.”

Grabbing her hand, Jon stood and pulled her in close to him. His hands felt rough and calloused but handled hers gently as if it were a precious stone. “If that is your desire.” 

Normally, they were the same height, but with Sansa standing barefoot and Jon still in boots, she had to look up at him. “More than anything.” She spoke earnestly and from the heart. Jon seemed to recognize that, grabbing her other hand and bringing them both up to his lips. 

The kiss he laid onto her two hands lasted only a moment, but the show of adoration rang true to Sansa. Countless lords had kissed her hand, and countless more would, but nothing would compare to this. It felt almost intimate and unlike every man before, it was honest. 

“Alright.” Jon lowered their hands but kept holding them, “Tomorrow we will wed before the Old Gods and crown you as Queen. Then-.” 

Sansa cut him off. She wanted him to know that she would be on his side and be someone he could rely on. If he wed her, then he would gain a valuable ally, and tonight would be the last time a man thought he could take advantage of her. “Then we begin.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, one of the hardest parts of this piece was deciding on a dang title. Anyone else have this issue? But in any case, I hope I captured Sansa's feelings about her trauma well. It does not define her, but she still has to work through it.   
> Thank you for reading! I will hopefully have the next piece out within the next two weeks or so. We will be moving on to more Jonsa with their wedding night/ morning after. I will be continuing to explore the relationship between Jon and Sansa and others, but this will be primarily a Jonsa story.


End file.
